


The Sapphire Oba

by Layla_Sanura



Series: Clearblue [3]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Layla_Sanura/pseuds/Layla_Sanura
Summary: When the St. Louis hyena cackle call a meeting to discuss their choice as leader, Clearblue thinks life can't get any more stressful. That is, until she's betrayed by the person closest to her.
Relationships: Asher (Anita Blake)/Original Character(s)
Series: Clearblue [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725550
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	The Sapphire Oba

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onyx1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyx1/gifts).



> "Bouda" is the name of an Ethiopian folk religion whose members practiced magic and were thought to be werehyenas. "Bouda" has since become synonymous with "werehyena." I use _bouda_ to refer to werehyenas as a group, the way _lukoi_ refers to werewolves.
> 
> "Kabultiloa" is the name of an ancient village in Chad believed to be populated entirely by werehyenas.
> 
> "Neiterkob" is a figure from Maasai mythology. He is perceived as having a superior intelligence and the ability to intercede with Engai (the supreme being) on behalf of humanity.
> 
> "Naturial" is the language invented by the twins to speak between themselves. They developed the language in their youth to speak in front of their parents without being overheard, and it sounds like a mix between a Latinate and an Asian language. I denote Naturial using italicized words within quotation marks, " _Like so._ " In real life, twins, triplets, quadruplets, etc. often invent original verbal or gesticular languages to communicate privately.
> 
> The events of _The Sapphire Oba_ begin one week after _Blue and Green and In-Between_.

**Chapter 1: Thriller Night**

Clearblue’s phone rang to the tune of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”—the melody she’d chosen for the number of the Circus of the Damned, her only contact for Jean-Claude and Asher. She started in her chair and snapped her head up from perusing the medical history of a prospective client.

“Shit,” she muttered to her empty office, and rummaged through her purse in search of the device. She found it on the third ring and answered hastily. “Hello?”

“ _Bonjour_.” Asher’s voice glided out to greet her, warm and melting, and her shoulders instantly loosened—he was trying to calm her before he gave her the news.

“Asher, hi. What’s up?” She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

She knew why he was calling: today was a week exactly since she’d won a dominance fight against Narcissus. One week into her twenty-eighth year and already she was neck-deep in a metaphysical mess absolutely foreign to her—and _that_ was a feat. The St. Louis hyena cackle wanted her as their new Oba (apparently, they’d been waiting for an excuse to oust Narcissus for some time), and she’d told them the only way to get her was to take her brother, Clover, too. She thought the proposal would be a deal-breaker, but instead they’d asked for a week to think about it. And now their time was up.

“The hyenas have decided. They request your and Clover’s presence at the Circus tonight at nine.”

A sigh rose in her throat, but she stifled it. “Alright. I’ll let him know.”

“Your anxiety is palpable. Please do not take this so hard—we will be here to help, whatever happens.”

“Thanks. I do appreciate it, really. It’s just that I know next to nothing about wereanimal politics.”

“Even so, worry causes only grief.”

“Yes, you’re right. Okay, I’ll see you at nine.”

He pushed another ripple of positive energy to her before he said, “Goodbye, _ma saphir_.”

“Bye.”

 _Ma saphir._ My sapphire. He began calling her that three nights ago upon presenting her beautiful and unbelievably expensive belated birthday gifts, when they were intimate for the first time. Clearblue thought it a bit soon for a pet name, and didn’t know quite how to respond. Or, for that matter, what it meant: Were they dating? Or was she only good for a fuck and a snack? She was never drawn to one-night stands or flings; sex was best when accompanied by emotion. She had spent her adult life thus far avoiding situations that turned her into _that girl_ : the clingy, needy, would-be girlfriend of a man whose interests were purely physical. She had successfully managed to steer clear of those types of men, and had instead experienced a handful of wonderful, committed relationships. But Asher had brought that streak to an abrupt end.

Asher was gorgeous, and after centuries of so being, certainly knew when someone desired him. She assumed he had been aware of her attraction since their first meeting, though she had tried her best to remain professional and objective while he was a patient. Beyond being observant of others’ inclinations, he was also clever and manipulative—not maliciously so, but his looks gave him an advantage, and he used it. He was the one who had maneuvered her into the sticky situation with the hyenas in the first place.

Clearblue was apprehensive that Asher could make her blush just by voicing her name; that he could excite her with only a glint in his eye and well-timed smile. And she was most definitely apprehensive that she had witnessed him turn that same heated expression to her brother. It was too reminiscent of high school for her taste. One would think opposite-gender siblings wouldn’t often find themselves in competition, but she and Clover were both bisexual, and it had occurred fairly frequently in their youth. Now it seemed the past had returned with a vengeance.

A headache began to form at the base of her neck as she dialed Clover’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” she said unenthusiastically.

“You sound chipper,” he retorted in classic Clover sarcasm that was biting, but somehow funny instead of mean. “I assume this has something to do with the hyenas?”

She suppressed a laugh. “You assume correctly. We’re to meet them at the Circus of the Damned at nine tonight.”

He sighed, and Clearblue could almost hear his eyes roll. “Not that I had plans or anything.”

“Monica?”

“Yeah. But the good thing about seeing someone affiliated with Jean-Claude is that she’ll understand why I have to cancel.”

“Are you two are officially dating now?”

“Dating? I don’t know about that.”

She narrowed her eyes even though he wasn’t in the room. “Have you slept with her?”

Silence.

“Oh, _that’s_ mature. —I thought you didn’t want to get involved because of her son?”

“Uh, that reasoning failed when she dragged me into a closet and had her way with me. I was helpless to stop her!” he mock-whined.

“I’m sure. In any case, I have a late client meeting tonight, so I’ll pick you up on my way.”

“Thanks.”

**Chapter 2: A Formal Gathering**

Clearblue pulled into the Circus parking lot at eight-thirty. The meeting itself was bad enough; worse would be arriving simultaneously with the hyenas, forgoing time for preparation. Luckily, she had worn a nice outfit to work that day, and didn’t need to change much when she’d stopped quickly at her apartment before picking up Clover.

Her bright chestnut hair was loose and un-fussed-with, and twirled in long waves to her bust. Her makeup was light and understated, but emphasized her eyes and lips well. She wore a black wrap V-neck dress that ended just above her knees and flattered her slender figure, paired with the sapphire pendant and drop earrings Asher had given her, and matching blue pumps that boosted her to five-ten. A simple ensemble, but chic and sexy. Clover was dressed in a black knit sweater with white dress shirt underneath, the collar of which lay outside the sweater for a handsome effect. He wore ash-gray trousers, properly ironed with creases from knee to ankle, and gleaming black Kenneth Cole shoes. He had slicked his hair back with mousse that prevented stray locks from falling forward; it darkened his usually rich brown color, and consequently provided his open countenance more allure. Earlier that evening via phone, Clearblue had explained the importance appearance and attire played at the Circus, and apparently, he’d listened.

They looked at each other: Clearblue worried, though trying not to be; Clover relaxed, a faint smile on his lips. He winked at her and she smiled, too. She scanned his face and shoulders once more, double-checking that he was presentable. Her gaze snagged suddenly on his earlobes, which each held a small emerald stud rimmed with gold, slightly larger than a pinhead. Earrings on men tended toward a modish quality that only some could pull off successfully, but these were small and classy, masculine but beautiful—they screamed Asher. She knew Clover had his ears pierced; he’d done it when they turned eighteen, to annoy their parents. But she hadn’t seen him wear earrings in nearly six years.

“Where did you get those?” she asked hesitantly, trying to control her voice.

“Oh.” Clover automatically touched the studs. “Asher gave them to me. I thought I’d grown out of the earring thing, but these are quite nice, very—”

“Smart,” she supplied.

He grinned. “Yes, exactly.” His eyes dropped to her necklace. “Did he give you that?”

“Yes. On Tuesday.”

“Me too. Wild, huh? When Graham brought them over, he said they were a combination birthday and thank-you gift. Real gold and emeralds; Asher went out of his way.”

Relief surged through her chest: Asher hadn’t visited him in person. She smiled, heartily pleased. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

They stepped from her silver Camry and she locked it as they walked to the building’s side door. Clearblue didn’t think the security escort was necessary anymore: she knew well the route to the underground cave at this point, and certainly she and Clover weren’t a threat. She kept those thoughts to herself, however, as they obediently followed a black-clad guard through the large door and across the stone floor to the living room.

“Clearblue and Clover Aldan,” the guard announced in a booming voice as he held the curtains apart for them. He then took up a position along the periphery of the room, among the fifteen or so rats and wolves spread around them.

That was new—formal, even for Jean-Claude. A spike of anxiety flew the length of her spine at the possible purpose of this new protocol. As if reading her thoughts, Clover touched a supportive hand to her back and began to rub small circles between her shoulder blades.

Jean-Claude, Anita, and Asher stood together before the fireplace: Anita’s right arm was entangled with Jean-Claude’s, and Asher’s hand perched casually on her left shoulder. Their color-themed clothes accentuated their imposing presence, making them the three brightest individuals in the otherwise stark environment. Jean-Claude wore a black button-up and slacks, a red leather belt with gold buckle, and knee-length red fabric smoking jacket with black lapels. Anita’s black sequin blouse caught the light, and was paired with a red velvet mini-skirt and black patent leather stilettos. Asher, the most elegant, wore a black tuxedo and bow tie, black belt with gold buckle, and deep crimson shirt and matching satin ribbon that held his hair in a low bun at the nape of his neck. He smiled brilliantly at the twins, and shot an encouraging nod their way.

“You will bow to the Master,” voiced the wolf standing at Jean-Claude’s right side.

Clearblue flicked eyes from the wolf guard to Asher. He nodded again, imperceptivity, and she and Clover bowed to them: Clover bent at the waist, while she lifted the bottom of her dress slightly and curtsied at the knee. It was strange to curtsy in a dress that exposed her legs, and she hadn’t done it in ages, but thankfully remembered the movements.

Only after they’d paid their respects did Jean-Claude smile. The three of them assimilated into the arrangement she had always seen them take: Jean-Claude and Anita together on the sofa to the left of the fireplace, Asher by himself on the loveseat to the right. Jean-Claude extended an arm to the black-and-white upholstered chairs across from Asher and bid them sit.

Asher continued to beam at them. “You both look lovely, very complementary.”

His unreserved emotion made Clearblue smile in response, and her anxiety began to dissipate. “Thank you.”

“And thank you again for the gifts,” Clover added.

He made eye contact with Clearblue as he said, “It was my pleasure.” He allowed a few embers of heat into his expression, and she studied her lap to hide her blush.

When she raised her head again moments later, she caught Anita taking a thorough assessment of Clover, her lips slightly parted. Anita saw her watching and instantly averted her eyes. She knew that, at the very least, Jean-Claude and Asher had also noticed the attention to Clover—if not some of the guards as well. In fact, it was entirely possible that Clover was the only oblivious person in the room. Nevertheless, the vampires said nothing, didn’t even miss a beat.

Asher continued speaking, “A hyena delegation will arrive shortly to officially answer your proposal of a dually-held Oba position. The hyenas are a large group, and they have presumably spent the past week discussing this circumstance among their hundreds of members. This is a unique predicament.” He paused, and chose his next words carefully. “There has never before been a question of intent when two dominant individuals engage in battle. The fact that you initially refused the clan after rightfully winning threw them into a state of confusion.” 

Clearblue took a cleansing breath. “And what will happen if they accept? What’s the course of action?”

Asher’s lips quirked. “You and Clover will become the Obas of the St. Louis hyena cackle. You will meet with the clan dominants to educate yourselves on hyena and broader were politics, and Jean-Claude and Micah will schedule a Coalition meeting to properly introduce you to the other were leaders and the larger community.”

She nodded, and turned to Clover. “What do you think?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

Before anyone else could further the conversation, a murmur rippled through the guards. Hands flew to ears in confirmation of the hyenas’ arrival, and suddenly all the tall black silhouettes clustered in corners became the focus of the room. A handful of wolves formed a knot around Jean-Claude and Anita; rats fell in behind them, flanking both sides of the fireplace, radiating outward and surrounding the sofa and loveseat. They moved quickly and efficiently, and were securely in place a full minute before the main door creaked open and an echoing march of footsteps filled the cave.

**Chapter 3: Weight of the World**

The curtains parted, and Clearblue felt witness to the return of worker bees to the hive: waves of hyenas poured into the living room, filling the space with their humming energy. There were twenty new bodies among them, and the room shrank considerably. Surrounded by inquiring eyes was not a position in which she reveled. For his part, Clover handled it with poise, even enjoyed it.

Unlike the Circus guards, the hyenas were all dressed in street clothes—many simply clad in jeans and tee-shirts, though some wore slacks and sweaters. All were men, and all looked formidable. And then, something unexpected: the other shoe dropped. Seeing the hyenas together, muscled mass after muscled mass, varying only in facial features and hair, emphasized the freak component to Narcissus’s rule. They were ornaments in a vain and cruel owner’s collection. For the first time, Clearblue felt bad for them. She felt the way she did before taking on a new patient: like her heart was sliced open, heavy with that distinct combination of pity, sympathy, and determination to make it right.

“Per the hyenas’ request, they would like to address you with their demands,” Jean-Claude announced. He nodded to a burly member of the cackle, who stepped forward and set his eyes hard on the twins.

“We want to admit more women to the clan,” the hyena said simply. “That is first and foremost. Secondly, we can’t allow two individuals to share the title of Oba, so we shall consider you, Clearblue, the true Oba, while Clover serves as advisor and proxy leader in your absence. If you agree to these terms, we gladly welcome you to the cackle.” He tacked on a timid smile to this last remark.

Clearblue took a breath and turned to Clover. She didn't need to speak; she projected the question at him.

He burst into his usual schoolboy grin. “ _Sounds good,_ ” he replied in Naturial.

She rolled her eyes. “ _Of course it does—I get the brunt of the work!_ ” She let out the breath she was holding. “ _Seriously, do you think we can handle this? Fit maintaining a weregroup into our already-busy lives?_ ”

Clover dropped his jesting air and the smile fell from his face; an act so rare Clearblue could practically count them on her fingers. “ _Honestly, I think it will be good for you. Good for both of us, but you especially._ ”

Silence stretched between the twins as they held one another’s eyes for a long moment. Clearblue then nodded once, decisively, and returned her attention to the hyenas and Jean-Claude.

“We accept the terms.” Her gaze migrated instinctively to Asher, who wore a smile like she had never seen—as bright as his hair.

After an astounded pause, a cheer went up through the collection of hyenas. They dropped their shielding almost in unison and their happiness swelled through the room, so contagious that it jumped to the other wereanimals as well, until the entire audience of guests and guards alike were laughing and shouting.

Even Anita gave a warm smile and looked at the twins with approval.

**Chapter 4: The Oba Crowned**

The cheering began to settle when the hyena who had spoken previously walked up to Clearblue. He stood so close that she felt his breath on her cheeks. He was a head-and-shoulders taller, though the expression in his eyes was for all the world like a child looking up at a parent. She stared silently back at him, stared forever into his glittering brown eyes, until he closed them, leaned down and pressed his nose and mouth against the curve of her right collarbone. His hyena yowled through her, and embedded in the sound was a longing so heavy it made her knees quake.

In the grasslands of her mind, she saw his beast roll on its back, its legs tucked to its stomach. Her hyena ran to him and circled his body, occasionally rubbing her head and muzzle against the soft fur of his belly. _Mine,_ her hyena chortled with a fierce maternal aggression. _Mine to love. Mine to protect._

He lifted his head and looked down at her again, unshed tears glinting even in the low lighting. “I’m Ares, by the way. Thank you.”

Clearblue smiled. “Good to meet you. And you’re welcome.”

Only when she smiled did he, which made her smile even wider. He stepped aside, and in so doing, revealed the single-file line of hyenas that had formed behind him.

Clover had moved back a yard while Ares was having his moment, but stuck a finger into the air and cleared his throat before the second hyena could approach the new Oba. “Don’t you think we should do this greeting ceremony somewhere more private? I don’t mean to disrespect the other wereanimals in the room, but we don’t exactly _need_ their support at this juncture.”

Jean-Claude opened his mouth to respond, but it was Asher who stepped forward and answered. “ _Oui_ , we should move elsewhere.”

Clearblue looked behind her at Ares. “What’s the protocol here? I’m meeting these twenty hyenas, and then what? Aren’t there hundreds of members?”

“Four-hundred-some, yes. Why don’t we adjourn, and you can finish meeting the delegation? Then we’ll go over our plans and give you some basic information.”

“Perfect.” She grinned at him, and found to her simultaneous delight and shock, that he continued to hang on her every word and expression.

“Very good. If all the hyenas will please follow me.” Asher strode away from Jean-Claude and Anita. He offered Clearblue his arm, placed a guiding hand on Clover’s shoulder, and led the procession to the back hallway.

There was disquiet among the Circus guards as the hyenas made their exit, and a collective mumbling grew until Claudia addressed Jean-Claude: “Sir?”

The Master watched his Temoin leave before he replied, “Asher has come into his own. The hyenas are his; let us allow him some time with them.”

**Chapter 5: Bigger Picture**

After Asher had taken his hyenas to the largest drawing room the Circus had to offer, Anita and Jean-Claude retired to their bedroom. They had dismissed all but five of the guards, and left the remaining individuals with instructions to patrol the hall and living room and be at the ready to play escort when the hyena party broke up. Anita had wanted to wait around to speak with Asher afterward, but Jean-Claude convinced her it was best they postpone that conversation until tomorrow: Asher had a lot on his plate, and would for some time.

Anita sat down on the bed and tugged off her shoes, moaning as she did so. She had spent the last twelve hours in heels: first her three-inch work pumps, then the spikes. It had been a long day by anyone’s standards.

“I hope you are not starting without me, _ma petite_.” Jean-Claude stuck his head out of the bathroom as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I know we are without our usual third, but let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Her fatigue forbade expending any more energy on banter that had a fifty-fifty shot of leading to an actual argument, so she just laughed. “Like I have the time to masturbate. And besides, I’m Catholic.”

Jean-Claude gave her a look that said he had more retorts than he could ever hope to utter. That made her laugh, too.

She flopped back onto the bed, her arms splayed out in either direction. After a minute she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The mattress moved and she felt Jean-Claude’s weight beside her. She knew he was staring at her: she had sighed a bit too loudly and within the next thirty seconds he was going to ask her what was wrong. She wasn’t sure she could answer him. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. Maybe she’d just had a long day. Maybe.

“ _Ma petite_?” he said softly, as he combed fingers through the hair around her face.

She smiled. “Twenty-five seconds. I won that bet.”

“ _Pardon?_ ”

“Nothing.” She sighed again, not quite as deeply.

“Anita. Look at me, please.”

She opened her eyes at her name. She could swear Jean-Claude disliked her name, by how infrequently he used it—when he did, he meant business. She rolled onto her side and looked at him, as he’d asked.

“I know your workday left you strained: three meetings with clients and talking with that marshal from Texas. Yet I feel there is something else.” He paused. “Are we not past the point of keeping secrets?”

She looked into his impossibly dark blue eyes and smiled weakly. “Just about.” She tried to think past the bullshit instinct in her head that told her to lie, to sweep it under the rug and tell him it was nothing big, that he shouldn’t worry. Marianne had taught her to be better than the shut-down instinct, to stand up to it and push it away.

“Are we going to lose Asher?” The words were simple enough, but saying them was harder than she’d like to admit. Jean-Claude didn’t respond for a beat, and she added: “I know he loves us, but with all the changes recently—the tigers, the lions—I can’t help but think that the hyenas will be the one to finally drive a wedge between us. I mean, we’ll have our animals, and he’ll have his.”

It was Jean-Claude’s turn to sigh. “I wish I could assure you that this will not happen. If I am to be honest with myself, the same thought has crossed my mind as well. I am certain that he will not leave us voluntarily, but as you say, our schedules have been rather hectic of late and Asher may find himself caught up in the large responsibility of maintaining a weregroup.” He touched a hand to Anita’s face. “Do not think on this now, _ma petite_. For the time being, we can only support him.”

She nodded and ran her knuckles across his bare chest, taking comfort in the familiarity of his skin. She leaned toward him slowly, watching with wonder as his eyes grew larger, until she thought she might fall into them.

**Chapter 6: Rundown**

Clearblue had never spent so long a time in her inner landscape. She still smelled the yellow acacias and arid brittle grass as she opened her eyes to the last hyena in the delegation standing before her. Ulysses was hers now, too. They all were. And soon she would claim the entire clan. Until now, her hyena had known only one other companion, and it was overwhelmed with familial energy—it yipped and leapt happily through the dusty savannah.

On human features, the emotion expressed itself as a smile that wouldn’t leave her face. She was refreshed and alert, as if she had just woken from a good sleep, and she knew the others felt it as well: the room was abuzz with contentment and pleasure, and everyone both fed from and contributed to it. It was a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced, and she wondered why she’d been so hesitant to get involved with a weregroup, if this was the effect of group bond.

She returned to her seat between Asher and Clover on the sofa of the spacious sitting room. Ulysses was the last of the hyenas to sit down; the rest were sprawled over chairs and settees, some even on the carpet, basking in the glow of emotional satisfaction.

“Ares, you were going to tell me about the cackle?” she said.

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “Yes, that’s right.” All eyes were on him, including her own. “The St. Louis _bouda_ , or hyenas, are known as the Kabultiloa Clan. The Kabultiloa were originally only fifty members, but following Nikolaos’s defeat and Richard Zeeman’s ascension as Ulfric of the wolves, we grew to a little over four-hundred.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I have about a million questions to what you just said,” Clover chimed in before Ares could continue. “Starting with: who’s Nikolaos?”

“Nikolaos was the Master of the City before Jean-Claude. Anita killed her, and Jean-Claude filled the opening.”

Clearblue nodded. “Okay. So who’s Richard Zeeman and what’s an Ulfric?”

Ares shared a glance with a few of the other hyenas. “You’re really starting from scratch, aren’t you?”

Clover laughed and ran a hand through his hair out of habit, forgetting that he’d used mousse. “Less than scratch.”

“Alright. Let’s back up a little, then. Every wereanimal group has a geographic region and culture of origin, and it is from these cultures that their names and titles are taken. The spotted hyena strain of lycanthropy began in Sub-Saharan Africa, where hyenas are indigenous, specifically in the Serengeti area of Tanzania and Kenya. Therefore, the terms associated with hyenas—bouda, Kabultiloa—are of Eastern African origin. Werewolves are believed to have originated in Scandinavia, and so their tradition uses names from Norse mythology. _Ulfric_ is a Norse term that means king or leader; Richard Zeeman is the leader of the St. Louis werewolves. Rats hail from South America, leopards from India, and tigers from China. Werelions, interestingly, use Latin names: _Rex_ and _Regina_ are what they call their king and queen, which is probably somehow related to the use of lions as entertainment in ancient Roman arenas.”

“Wow.” Clearblue blinked. “That’s a lot of information.”

“It may seem so at first, but once you meet all the were leaders at the Coalition meeting and put faces to names, it will get easier. But let’s get back to the bouda. After Richard took over the wolves, Narcissus began recruiting left and right. Those of us in this room are from the first fifty members. We’ve been here the longest, so we decided to form a delegation and lead in Narcissus’s absence.”

She was puzzled again. “What does a change in wolf hierarchy have to do with the bouda?”

Areas took a breath and decided how best to respond. “The Wereanimal Coalition has only been around to guide us for the last few years—it’s still a new concept and has been extremely helpful. Before the Coalition, though, it was pretty much every weregroup for itself. There was a sort of loose confederation, an understanding between were leaders, but this only benefited the leaders themselves. The old Ulfric, Marcus, paid Narcissus a tribute, or tax, and in return Narcissus kept the hyena numbers small, which gave the wolves more power and sway. But when Richard took the wolves, he stopped paying Narcissus, and so the deal ended and she’s been growing the hyenas’ membership since then.”

“Okay.” She put a hand up to stop him. “This is getting somewhat confusing. Why don’t we hold off for now and let what you’ve already said sink in.”

Ares gave her an encouraging smile and nodded. “Of course.”

“What’s next on the agenda?” Clover asked.

“How about your responsibilities?”

He brightened. “Excellent, tell me.”

Areas looked to Dionysus, who came up to a kneeling position on the carpet in front of Clearblue.

“Since we haven’t had—” Dionysus glanced quickly at the other Aldan— “someone in Clover’s position in recent history, I had to do some digging. I discovered that a handful of the original Eastern and Mid-African clans designated one of the alphas to serve as mediator, advisor, proxy, and assistant. Basically, this individual was the Oba’s aide, and buffer between Oba and clan members. This was usually done in the more arid countries, like Niger, Chad, and Somalia, where there was a high level of competition for food and water, and thus a need for someone to sort out inevitable disputes. The position required the individual to be a dominant, as well as smart and resourceful. — ”

“ _Clearly_ , you’ve picked the right person,” Clover interrupted.

Clearblue retorted quickly, “Clearly, they’ve picked the _only_ person.” She grinned at him when he rolled his eyes.

After a pause, Dionysus continued, “Traditionally, the Oba’s advisor, known as the _Neiterkob_ , was also female, but in this case we’ll make an exception.” He smiled playfully. “Gaining a female Oba is a step up for us.”

Ares returned to the helm of the discussion. “So, that’s all we had planned at this stage. You still have to meet the rest of the cackle, though. Are you free tomorrow?”

Clearblue nodded.

“Good. We’ll do it in the evening, so Asher can join us. Meet us at Narcissus in Chains at ten PM.”

With a quick glance to Clover and Asher for their confirmation, Clearblue replied, “We’ll be there.”

**Chapter 7: Alone Time**

No sooner had one of the hyenas opened the drawing room door, than two Circus guards appeared to escort them. They filed out of the room, laughing and talking among themselves.

Ares brought up the rear, and clasped Clearblue’s hands. “We look forward to introducing you to the rest of our clan. I’m sure they’ll be very taken with you.”

She smiled. “I look forward to it as well. Thank you for your help, Ares. Clover and I appreciate it.”

Clearblue hugged him goodbye and Clover shook his hand vigorously, after which he ran to catch up with the rest of the delegation.

Asher stood close beside Clearblue and put his hand to the small of her back. He massaged fingers into her skin a moment before moving further south. She bit her tongue to keep from giggling when he cupped her ass. 

Clover, preoccupied, checked his phone. “I may still be able to get together with Monica; it’s only ten-thirty.” He grinned at Clearblue.

“Good for you.” She paused. “Why’re you looking at me?”

“Uh, you drove.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, that’s right.” Asher pinched her right cheek, and she twitched.

Clover narrowed his eyes. “What’s up with you?”

“N-nothing.” She went to her purse that sat beside the sofa and pulled out her keys in a flourish, then tossed them to him gently. “Take the car. I want to go over some of this hyena stuff with Asher. I’ll fill you in later. Go have fun with Monica.” She didn’t think she’d rushed her words, but for some reason Clover quirked an eyebrow and looked at her with an odd expression. Then he broke into a smile.

“Whatever you say. Call if you need a ride later tonight.” He flicked eyes to Asher and back again. “Or tomorrow.”

Clover promptly turned on his heel and, as he left the room, threw a hand up in salutation without looking back.

“Ah,” Asher said, in a rumbling voice that held all the things she wanted to hear, “subtlety is not your strong suit when put on the spot.”

“And timing doesn’t seem to be yours.” She walked the short distance to the door, closed it, and then faced him as she leaned against its surface. She bit her lip provocatively and looked him over slowly. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

He chuckled as he regarded her, a dense tumble of male laughter that made the pulse in her thighs speed upon hearing it. “Come here.” He extended an arm to her.

Clearblue pushed herself away from the door and walked in an exaggerated manner toward his hand. She touched fingertips to his, and then gasped as he pulled her quickly to him. She stared into his eyes from inches away, and once again witnessed the phenomenon of boiling ice.

“From the moment you arrived in that dress, you have been quite the distraction.” 

Her cheeks ached with the width of her grin as she wrapped arms around his neck. “Have I?” She leaned in and placed a string of kisses in an arc above his collarbone.

Asher reached down under her dress and ran his knuckles along the inside of her thigh. Her lips opened in a moan against his skin as he worked his way toward the epicenter. He stroked a finger along her length and was inwardly surprised (and outwardly aroused) at how wet she was. He slipped two fingers inside and reveled in the sensation of her hot flesh around him.

Desire pounded at her temples and coursed through her veins. She stepped back and undid the knotted cloth belt around her waist that tied the dress together, and his gazed smoldered all the more. In tantalizingly slow movements, she opened the dress down the front and let it fall from her shoulders. It rippled to the floor, revealing underneath an extremely flattering set of lingerie: a push-up bra and bikini panties done in shimmering royal-blue fabric overlaid with black lace.

Asher’s eyes went wide. “Oh, _cherie_.”

He was against her again in a flash: his lips pressed to the swell of her left breast, his hands at her hips. Clearblue laughed and moaned alternatively, until he picked her up and carried her to the long sofa. She kicked off her shoes and was suddenly on her back while he knelt on the cushion by her feet. He grazed his hands from her knees to her upper thighs, and once there, ran thumbs along the top of her panties. His touch was more than she could bear, and she gave way to a string of gasps and whimpers. He smiled up the length of her body as he clutched her panties and drew them down her legs.

As Asher straightened and cast the undergarment onto a nearby chair, she saw his erection bulging through the fabric of his pants. She went to her knees as well, and simultaneously stroked his crotch with one hand and helped him out of his tux jacket with the other. He responded to her urgency and in a blur was shirtless, his jacket and red button-up thrown atop the same chair as her bottoms. She unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and boxers down to his knees. He then sat in the middle of the sofa as she straddled him.

Clearblue laid frantic hands on his shoulders and chest as she kissed him with wild enthusiasm. His fingers convulsed against the small of her back and his pelvis strained between her legs. After a moment of teasing his erection, she gripped its base and lowered her hips to meet his.

**Chapter 8: Ante Up**

Some time later, Clearblue collapsed across Asher’s chest, her heart pounding and legs still trembling. Only after her orgasm receded did she realize that he hadn’t fed from her, as in their previous encounters. She took immense pleasure in this thought, as Asher, breathing with effort, repeatedly kissed the crown of her head and murmured in French at her ear.

Their afterglow was interrupted, however, by a rapid knock at the door. Clearblue raised herself enough to look at Asher, who was equally mystified.

“One minute,” she called out.

She scrambled to retrieve her dress from the carpet. Quickly, she tied the garment around her and smoothed her hair as best she could. Clearblue turned to her new lover and buttoned up his shirt as he arranged his pants and their contents appropriately, and then refastened his belt.

“You may enter,” Asher supplied. His voice carried a slight edge, irked at the intrusion.

At the command, Ares burst through the door wearing a pained expression and holding a creased sheet of paper in his right hand.

His guard-escort looked embarrassed and apologetic. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but the hyena says it’s urgent, says it’s an emergency.”

Asher nodded his understanding and the guard retreated and closed the door.

“My Oba,” Ares said gravely when the three of them were alone. He lowered his head in a kind of abbreviated bow.

Her hyena immediately pricked up its ears at the sight of his distress. “Ares, what is it?” She walked the short distance to stand near him.

“Some of the delegation and I were beginning the preparations for the meeting at Narcissus in Chains tomorrow, and we found this note taped to the bar. It’s Narcissus’s handwriting.”

Clearblue took the page from his outstretched arm. It was folded in half and had her name written in a neat cursive script on the top portion. She opened the sheet to its full size and scanned it hastily. When she lifted her head seconds later, the expression she directed at Ares was equal parts shocked and quizzical.

“You’ve read this?”

He nodded, the tension in his face unchanged.

After a beat of silence, Asher asked, “ _Ma saphir?_ ”

“Narcissus has challenged me for control of the cackle,” she said in a voice not quite her own. “A fight to the death, tomorrow night. Before I meet the rest of the hyenas.”

He launched into a slew of French curses and automatically (perhaps subconsciously) drew closer to them. “I suspected she might attempt something of the like. She is stubborn and relentless.”

While her human mind was taken aback, her hyena was instantaneously defensive. It growled and whined, its fur bristled, and its chest heaved with rage.

“Clearblue,” Ares said softly, and brought her back to the conversation at hand. “This is very serious. I’ve talked it over with a few key members, and we understand if you want to step down in light of Narcissus’s challenge. You’re new to the wereanimal thing, and asking you to put your life on the line is—”

She held up a hand and effectively cut him off. “I’m doing it.”

He looked at her earnestly. “You should take a while to think about it. You need to be sure.”

Despite the barrier she tried to maintain between her animals’ instincts and her own rationale, her hyena’s ire was tangled so densely with her own emotion that it was impossible to separate the two. Suddenly, her eyes were blanketed with black spots on tan hide, her ears accosted with sounds of insects and rustling grass of the nighttime Serengeti, and her nostrils filled with the musky odor of her clan, mingled with the dry soil of the African plains.

The hyena before her shook noticeably and he flicked a worried glance to Asher. “Please, Clearblue, stop.”

She didn’t respond. That thick musk spilled out from her and permeated the room, broken by occasional whiffs of arid wind.

“Oba!” Ares’s voice was high and desperate. The muscles in his limbs bunched and stretched and his shape began to waver.

Asher put a firm hand on her shoulder. “You will call his beast if you do not stop.”

But she was lost to them. Her hyena’s energy appeared suddenly above her like an exploding prism, a collection of shining yellows, tans, and browns. It clucked and wailed loudly, deafeningly, and Ares couldn’t hold on any longer. His clothes tore at the seams, fur shot up in a line along his spine, his face contorted into a black muzzle, and his hands and feet molded into paws.

Clearblue finally came back to herself when Ares mewled and pressed his head into her hand. Astonishment flashed through her before she squatted in front of him. “I’m sure, Ares.” She looked solidly into his huge black eyes.

His lips pulled back over his teeth, but the action was accompanied by a happy glint in his gaze instead of a growl, and so resembled a smile.

**Chapter 9: Conference**

Asher slipped through the door of the bedroom he shared with Anita and Jean-Claude. Anita was asleep, naked, in a small mound on the mattress. The sheets covered her legs and torso but left her ample breasts exposed, which rose and fell as she snored faintly in a deep slumber.

Jean-Claude, however, sat at his wide, paper-strewn desk in the back corner, his head bent toward the document on which he wrote. He still wore the black slacks Asher had last seen him in, though they were now slightly wrinkled, and his feet and upper body were bare.

Temoin greeted Master with a gentle hand through his hair. When Jean-Claude raised his head, Asher leaned down and kissed him sensuously.

Their lips parted, and Jean-Claude’s grin was unreserved. “You are in an uncommonly good mood, _mon chardonneret_.”

“I have an uncommonly good reason to be: she called his beast.” Asher kept his countenance indifferent for the most part, though Jean-Claude saw the whisper of a smile that played on his lips.

Jean-Claude stood and entwined his fingers with Asher’s. “Who called whose beast?”

“Clearblue called Ares’s.”

“Ah, so that was the commotion down the hall.”

“ _Oui._ ” Asher checked himself. “Some of it. Ares returned with a letter from Narcissus addressed to Clearblue. She challenged her to a fight to the death for the right to the cackle.”

Jean-Claude’s grin sank away. “I did not think Narcissus had the audacity. How did Clearblue respond?”

“She accepted, and was so angered by it that she turned Ares by accident. I believe that was a first for her, from her expression after the fact.”

“Are you not concerned?”

Asher shook his head. “You should have felt her energy. She is one of the most powerful wereanimals I have ever experienced. I believe she will fight well, and win.”

“When is this to take place?”

“Tomorrow night, at Narcissus in Chains.”

He gestured to the sleeping Anita. “Then we will be there with guards to support you.”

“Thank you, _mon ami_.”

There was a quiet knock on their door and both vampires turned toward the sound.

“ _Oui_?” Jean-Claude asked.

Graham popped his head in, clearly uncomfortable. “Sorry. Clover’s waiting for you in the living room, Asher.”

“He has returned? Why?”

Graham shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Asher turned to Jean-Claude with an apology on his lips, but the other simply smiled. “Not necessary. I will have to acclimate to a busier Temoin. Go tend to your hyena.”

Asher, aware of the wolf’s presence, cupped a hand to Jean-Claude’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Graham parted ways with Asher at the door to the cavern. “I’m on patrol tonight. Call if you need anything.”

Asher nodded, and then entered the vaulted room.

Clover sat in one of the chairs. He wore the outfit from earlier that evening, minus his black sweater. He had on only the white dress shirt now, three of the top buttons undone and the tails untucked. His hair still held some mousse, but was ruffled without looking disheveled, and a dusting of five o’clock shadow covered his jaw. He looked positively torn from a casual wear catalogue—and it didn’t escape Asher’s notice. Clover rose as Asher approached.

Asher looked him over discretely, and then asked, “I thought you took Clearblue home?”

“I did, and she dropped me at my place. I drove my car back here.”

The brazen warmth in Clover’s eyes conveyed exactly to what purpose he had returned. Asher didn’t need to inquire to that, but he did anyway. “Why?”

At the prompting, Clover closed the distance between them. He plunged his hands into Asher’s hair, and kissed him. A long moment later, he broke the exchange and came up for air.

“We can go to my place,” Clover said, breathlessly.

**Chapter 10: Betrayed**

Clover had retrieved Clearblue from the Circus at one in the morning, and then she’d dropped him at his place and driven her car home. And since that time, she’d tossed and turned. Seeing two patients and considering taking on another, followed by the business with the hyenas should have tired her sufficiently to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow—but it was this last bit that kept her rooted to the conscious world.

 _A fight with Narcissus._ _To the death!_ How could she have agreed to that? At the time it had seemed simple: she and her hyena were so indignantly confident. But the more she thought about it, the greater her anxiety grew, and the more convinced she became that she would lose—would _die_. At two-thirty AM, she was on the verge of tears when she decided to go to Clover’s. After all, she reasoned, this concerned the fate of the Kabultiloa Clan, and Clover had tied himself to them as tightly as she had.

Clearblue walked, and both the activity and the chill air helped clear her mind somewhat. She knew the way by heart, and it helped that their apartments were close. As she entered Clover’s hallway, spare key in hand hovering near the lock of his door, she heard a muffled noise through the wall. She assumed Clover had grunted and rolled over in his sleep, but the sound occurred again, this time louder and no longer ambiguous. It was a moan—Clover’s moan. A deep blush crept up her neck into her cheeks and she backed slowly away from the door.

Then came the corresponding sound that turned her stomach to a bottomless pit: a moan from a male voice that was _not_ Clover’s answered in reply. She knew it wasn’t Clover’s voice just as assuredly as she knew whose voice it _was_ —she’d heard that very moan several times before. When she was with Asher.

Her embarrassment morphed into disturbance, which became hurt, which then plumed into a thick wash of anger. She shoved her key into the lock before she could think twice, stepped inside, and slammed the door behind her. Then she waited. Even being a wereanimal and a vampire, she wasn’t sure they would’ve heard her enter amid their euphoria, had she not announced herself boldly. The sounds of pleasure and creaking bedsprings immediately ceased, and Clearblue smiled bitterly in the darkness of the living room.

Clover appeared in the threshold first, wearing a burgundy cotton robe that ended at his knees. She didn’t care what he had to say for himself; his stricken face was all she needed to see. She pressed her lips into a hard line and crossed her arms over her chest: body language for _shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you_. Asher followed shortly. He’d taken a few seconds to don boxers before he left the bedroom. His expression twitched into a less severe version of Clover’s—but for a vampire his age, it was a lot.

Clover shot a sidelong glace to Asher, which gave Clearblue the opportunity to approach and strike him jarringly across the face. He may have always been the calmer of the two, but neither had ever displayed an inclination to violence. Clearblue especially was the epitome of non-confrontation, which explained the surprise and confusion she saw in his eyes in the moments following.

“I’m more hurt by your actions,” she spat. Her eyes were already hot, her vision beginning to blur. “Jesus Christ, Clover— _how_ could you do this?”

For an instant he opened his mouth, but thought better of it and turned his gaze to the floor. She moved to stand in front of Asher, who had regained control of his expression. The blank stare he gave her spurred her anger to the first bite of fury.

“And you. I can honestly say I’m not surprised.” Her voice buckled. “I assumed you were fucking Jean-Claude and Anita, but I got involved with you anyway. The only thing this has proved is that I’m more susceptible to men like you than I thought I was. Thank you for alerting me to how foolish I can be.”

Clearblue ran hands over her face as a copious silence fell around them.

After some agonizing seconds, Asher began quietly, “ _Ma saphir_ —”

 _Mistake_ , her hyena hissed in her ear. _Arrogant man._ Her last reserve dissolved. She wheeled on him, and whatever he saw in her eyes was enough to snatch the words from his mouth.

“You don’t get to call me that!” she screamed. “You have _lost_ your right to call me that.”

Then it was no longer just four of them in the room. Her other animals, excited by the tumult of extreme emotion, thrust their heads from their respective caves and began sauntering, slithering, and flying toward her human mind. And . . . nothing.

For the first time since she could remember, the rush of all of her animal energies coming at once did nothing. No fear, no worry, no will to fight them. In the midst of this apathetic surrender to her swiftly gaining animals, the last notion in her rational forebrain was: _Run!_

**Chapter 11: Rift**

Clearblue ran. She ran faster than human legs had ever carried her before. She ran down Delmar Boulevard to Skinker, then to Lindell, which bordered Forest Park: the sprawling grounds home to a golf course, the St. Louis Art Museum, and coincidently, the St. Louis Zoo. She ran toward open fields, toward dirt and vegetation—and away from people.

Her limbs burned with claws and teeth wanting out, and she paused a few yards inside the park by an enormous bur oak to hide her keys and shoes. That last cogent act completed, her skin split then and there and she erupted first into her hyena, followed by her red, black, and white tigers in succession, then her grizzly bear, her coyote—all her mammals wanted a turn. The reptiles and raptors weren’t quite so determined, as they lacked the quick temper of the warm-blooded creatures. She continued to run, shifting moment to moment to a new form, faster and faster across the acres of space, the cold but resilient earth a welcome companion under her paws.

At about the time the beginning gray of dawn crept in slyly from the East, her animals had finally had their fill. Exhausted, she chose her falcon and swooped back to the oak in the northwest corner of the park to grab her belongings. Three minutes later she landed soundlessly on her apartment balcony, became human, took up her keys and popped through the sliding-glass door.

Nude and dirt-streaked, she locked the door after her—just as the living room lights flipped on and she saw Clover standing near the wall with his back turned.

He gestured toward the sofa, where he’d laid out her robe. “I knew what you’d do,” he said softly. “Your energy at my place was like a ton of bricks.”

Clearblue didn’t answer. She walked to the sofa and pulled the robe around her. If she hadn’t just exercised her animals so thoroughly, they would have appeared again, provoked by a renewed wave of anger.

Clover turned to face her, his expression sullen. “Not that it makes a difference, but that was the first time, Asher and me.”

“You’re right,” she answered coldly. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Clear. I expect it’ll take a while for us to get past this, but I want you to know that it’s just a physical thing with Asher. Not like with the two of you. I can see that you’re starting care for him, the way Monica and I—”

She interrupted him, “Yeah, about that. What do you suppose Monica will think about you fucking someone else?”

He averted his eyes. “I’ve told her that I like men too, but I don’t know how she’ll react if I tell her about Asher.”

Clearblue nodded with mock sympathy. “You’re afraid she’ll break it off because you’re a cheating slut.”

A first pinch of anger showed in his face. “Just because _you’re_ a relationship person doesn’t make me a _slut_ —I enjoy my sexuality and I’m not ashamed. I’ve been attracted to Asher since I first met him, like you have. And it’s not as if you two are in a monogamous relationship.”

“ _T_ _hat’s_ your excuse?” she shot back with mounting heat. “We aren’t committed yet, so he’s fair game? Never mind that you’re the first person I told about my feelings for him; never mind that you met him _through me_. This is the bottom line: as you said, you saw the signs that I’m falling for him, and _you slept with him anyway!_ You don’t do that to people you care about, Clover. You just don’t.”

More anger flooded his countenance, and his body went rigid with it. “I—”

But Clearblue shook her head forcefully, disregarding his undeserved resentment. “I’m done with this shit. Get out of my house.”

“You can’t just—”

“I said _get out!_ ” she screamed, and pointed at the door so there could be no misunderstanding.

**Chapter 12: Circus Circleback**

Clover stood dumbfounded outside of Clearblue’s apartment building. He couldn’t remember the last time she had shrieked at him like that. Their dispositions, although distinct, were complementary, and as such they rarely had disagreements, let alone true fights.

Then, with cold horror, he remembered what she had told him in the car driving home from the Circus two hours earlier: she was supposed to challenge Narcissus that night—in less than fifteen hours. At the time, she had an aura of anger around her like a dense cloud, which is why he suspected she sounded so nonchalant about willingly entering a life-threatening altercation. He had tried to dissuade her, to tell her to think more carefully about it, but the decision was already made, she’d said. Clover’s skin went clammy at the untold effects this emotional upset would have on her psyche, and more to the point, her preparedness for the brawl.

He was no longer stoic; he was panicking. He turned back toward the front door of her building with a mind to make things right, but stopped mid-step. She would be in no mood. No, it was more prudent to let her alone for a while, give her time to get things sorted for herself, and then he would broach the subject again. But what could he do in the meantime? Half-formed thoughts flashed rapidly through his head as he tried to suss out a solution to this catastrophe waiting to happen. He came up short. At a loss for bright ideas, Clover decided it was best to wait it out at the Circus, where, surely, he could find at least one helpful resource.

He had passed the early morning hours at his apartment, trying unsuccessfully to grab a few hours’ sleep. At quarter of six, he’d given up on rest, pulled on the same wrinkled clothes from his floor, and headed over to the Circus of the Damned.

The Circus at six in the morning was—appropriately—quiet as a tomb. All the vampires in residence had turned in for the day, and Clover thought it was probably still too early (especially on a Saturday) for most of the diurnal folk to be up and about. The guard on duty led him begrudgingly into a sitting room and muttered something about finding someone he could speak with.

After twenty excruciating minutes of testing every piece of furniture, counting the ceiling tiles, and repeatedly circling the problem at hand, Anita entered and closed the door.

She smiled at his slightly stunned expression upon seeing her. “I hear there’s a new shit storm brewing.”

Clover only nodded.

She sat across from him and tucked her legs under the long nightgown she wore. “I only know the broad strokes; Asher was as close to hysterical as I’ve ever seen. If he didn’t die at dawn every day, he would still be pacing and worrying.”

He raised eyebrows at her, unsure if she was making light of the situation.

“So why don’t you fill me in?” she added, after an awkwardly silent moment.

“The short version?”

“My favorite kind.”

“I slept with Asher. Clearblue found out and came unhinged. This couldn’t be a worse time because she’s supposed to battle Narcissus tonight, and I just don’t know if . . .” His voice broke, and he hung his head.

He’d looked fine at first, but the instant Anita heard that hitch in his voice, she knew he was spinning squarely into crisis. She got up and sat beside him on the loveseat; she placed a hand on the nape of his neck and stroked his hair gingerly. But she didn’t embrace him or say anything right away. She had enough men in her life to know how much comfort was too much.

“This is my fault,” he whispered. “I should’ve waited. With Asher, I should’ve waited. If she hadn’t found out about that she would’ve been okay to fight. You should have felt her, when she told me about Narcissus’s letter.” Clover looked up at Anita, and his face glistened with tears. He didn’t have the labored breathing associated with crying, though. It was as if the tears squeezed out on their own, like his eyes were watering from an allergy. “She was so angry and eager. If she had fought Narcissus right then, she would’ve won no question. But now . . .” 

Anita and rubbed his back. “Have you slept at all?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Well, that’s the first thing you can do. Things are always worse when you haven’t slept or eaten. You can take one of the guest bedrooms.”

“How can I possibly sleep? In this mess?”

She smiled at him. “You’d be surprised. But, if you try to sleep and you really can’t, I’ll ask Dr. Lilian to give you a high-dosage sleep aid.” She stood and pulled him up with her. “And give me Clearblue’s number so I can check on her while you get some rest.”

Clover nodded absently, halfway into a stupor. Anita led him down the hallway and into a small bedroom. Its only furnishings were a large bed, a dresser, and closet in the corner. Clover pulled his phone from his pocket before he sat heavily on the mattress. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Clearblue’s number, then handed the device to Anita.

“But you should call her from another phone. I doubt she’ll answer if she sees my name come up.”

“I will.” Anita motioned for him to lie down, which he did obediently. “Everything will be better when you wake up.”

“Thank you, Anita.”

“Of course.” She turned off the lights and closed the door on her way out.

**Chapter 13: Out of Touch and Out of Time**

The first two instances Anita called Clearblue’s phone, she heard four rings before the voice mail triggered. But at noon she called a third time and got the message straight away. Same thing at one. By two-thirty, worry began to gnaw at her. She dispatched Graham to scout Clearblue’s apartment, and he’d reported half an hour later to say that the front door was locked, and all the lights were off, from what he could see with binoculars from the street.

Clover slept until four. Anita hated to give him the news when he woke—after she’d all but promised him the circumstance would improve—but she did, and he returned to his fretful state in a hurry. He called his sister twice from his own phone, but got immediate voice mail as well. At five, he let himself into her apartment with his key, found it empty, and sunk into even lower spirits.

Full dark fell at six PM, and Master and Temoin rose within two minutes of one another. Shortly thereafter, they arrived in the living room where they met a concerned Anita and an overwrought Clover. She sat on the loveseat, while he paced the area of the floor behind the two chairs, across from her. Despite having rested, Clover looked every bit as harrowed as he felt: he wore thick stubble around his mouth and jaw, his day-old clothes were unkempt from sleeping in them, and the anxiety painted plainly across his face had left gray half moons under is eyes.

As soon as Asher caught sight of Clover’s appearance, his features froze into unreadable indifference. “What is it? What has happened?”

Anita looked from the vampires to Clover. When he didn’t answer, she did: “We haven’t heard from Clearblue all day. The last time Clover saw her was early this morning when they argued. Her apartment’s empty and her phone’s off.”

Asher glanced briefly at Jean-Claude. “Surely there are other possibilities? Friends, family? She must be _somewhere_.”

Clover shook his head. “I called her receptionist, Erin, and she hasn’t seen or heard from her since yesterday. I also called our parents. I didn’t want to worry them, so I didn’t come right out and ask if they’d heard from her, but I talked with them enough to know that she’s not at their house, either. She’s only been back in town for six months, and hasn’t made many friends yet. I guess she could be with someone, but not anyone I know.” His words came ever faster. “I realize it’s only been twelve hours. I wouldn’t be so upset, if not for the thing with Narcissus tonight. I need to know Clear’s okay, that she’s ready for this fight. I’m not going to lose my sister because of a damn argument, and certainly not at that hand of that bitch Narcissus.”

“Do you have a photograph of her?” Jean-Claude spoke for the first time.

Clover blinked at him. “Uh, yeah. I have a few on my phone.” He reached into his pocket and thumbed the phone to open his photo album, and then handed it to Jean-Claude. “Take your pick.”

He flipped through several photos before he found one he liked. “This will do. If you will excuse me.” He walked briskly out the door at the back of the cave and did not return for some minutes.

The three left in the room didn’t speak, each contained within their own minds. Anita looked to her lap, Clover resumed his pacing, and Asher stood stock still in the center of the room, staring silently at something far off and probably invisible. When Jean-Claude reentered, their eyes stuck to him like insects on flypaper.

“I instructed Claudia to make fifty photocopies of that image and appraise the guards of our situation. A few copies will be put up in all of my establishments, and the rest will go to the search party she will send into the city to frequent the busiest sections. I have told her, and asked her to convey to the rest, that this is top priority. I will do my best to find your sister, Clover.”

Clover rewarded his effort with a weak smile.

At quarter of seven, Anita persuaded Clover to come into the kitchen with her for some dinner. They slapped together a few sandwiches and ate at the circular table. Clover chose to sit beside instead of across from her. He couldn’t stand to look anyone in eyes just then, especially when there was nothing to say.

Following dinner, he ceased pacing and simply sat on one end of the sofa with his head reclined on its cushion, vision fixed to the distant black nothing of the cave ceiling. He called Clearblue’s phone twice more between seven-fifteen and eight, without luck. Claudia entered the room softly but came in only far enough to catch Jean-Claude’s gaze, shake her head in disappointment, and then retreat.

And then, too quickly, it was eight-thirty. Clover, Asher, Anita, and Jean-Claude had no choice but to drive across the Illinois border to Narcissus in Chains and attend the event that had haunted them for hours.

**Chapter 14: The Pit**

Anita drove with Jean-Claude beside her in the passenger seat. Asher and Clover sat together in the back and occasionally glanced at one another, sharing their unease. Behind them was a three-car caravan of guards, most of which (Jean-Claude hoped) would be unneeded inside the club and could remain around the perimeter to patrol.

They turned down a street that was rowdy with activity: people dressed in brightly colored, strange, and flamboyant outfits mingled and kissed in alleys and along the sidewalk. All of the movement was foot-traffic; the other vehicles they saw were parallel parked—theirs were the only cars actually driving.

“You’ve heard of bar-hopping?” Anita asked Clover, and gazed briefly at him in her rear-view mirror. “These people go club-hopping.” She nodded toward a group of pedestrians stumbling along the sidewalk to their right. “There’s a huge underground sex circuit that encompasses everything from swinging to hardcore BDSM, and all the clubs on this street cater to one fetish or another. The circuit freaks like to get a taste of everything, and visit one club after another after another, working their way down.” She paused as they continued slowly for another thirty yards and reached a small intersection. “Down to the end. To Narcissus in Chains.”

Narcissus in Chains was one of the larger establishments of the row, but aside from the gaudy neon lighting that advertised its name over the entrance, looked fairly unassuming. Anita turned right onto the side street that ran parallel, and then made a left into the half-empty parking lot behind the club. She backed into a space close to the rear of the building, and gestured to the caravan to do the same nearby.

Once outside of their vehicles, everyone congregated near the back exit and looked expectantly to Jean-Claude.

“Outside group, I want three of you to remain stationary here, while the remainder patrol the perimeter of the grounds. If we need backup, the stationary guard will come to aid us first, then the patrols, if we require more individuals. Inside group, behave as if this meeting were at the Circus. I want special attention paid to Asher and Clover. Understand?”

There arose a resounding “Yes, sir” from the twelve figures in black, and they attentively arranged themselves into their positions.

The rear door then swung open and Ares stood in the threshold. He motioned them inside, and they proceeded in a two-by-two formation: two guards leading, followed by Asher and Clover, two more guards, Anita and Jean-Claude, and the final two guards at the rear.

They walked briskly down a shadowed hallway, through a swinging door like those found in restaurant kitchens, around a corner, and a few paces down another hallway where they stopped outside of a set of double doors. While the first corridor was bare—clearly a passage the public didn’t often tread—their current surroundings featured plum-colored walls with ornate brass electrical fixtures designed to resemble candelabra, and deep gold carpeting.

Ares held one of the doors for their party. In sharp contrast to the hallway, the high-ceilinged space, about the size of a ballroom, was glaringly well-lit. They entered on a balcony. Below, carved into what Clover assumed was the basement level, was a substantial circular pit. Upon closer inspection, his stomach turned and he felt momentarily queasy: the pit’s walls and floor were coated in rubber, and the steel grate of an industrial-quality drain glinted in the center. Along the circumference were various devices, including a long wooden board with metal cuffs where one’s hands and feet would reach, a set of stocks, a metal cage in the shape of a human body, and several thick steel rings bolted to the wall at intervals, some with chains attached.

Ares gestured toward a first row grouping of ten chairs and they, along with their guards, squeezed through and sat. The balcony overlooking the gruesome pit was as close to a Roman arena as Clover was likely to get—he had a feeling Narcissus intended to play gladiator, and his mood plummeted from cautiously anxious to well and truly frightened.

**Chapter 15: Fanfare**

Clover turned to Jean-Claude on his right with wide-eyed alarm. “What _the hell_ is this place?”

“One of the club’s torture chambers.” Jean-Claude watched Clover’s gaze roam over the wood and metal appliances. He put a comforting hand on the other man’s knee and spoke in a hushed tone. “I guarantee those implements will not be used in the battle—were Narcissus to attempt to it, Asher and I would take her head ourselves. She likes to show off her toys to intimidate.”

“Well, it’s working.”

His leg jiggled and he looked repetitively up and down their row, and then around at the larger bobbing audience of hyenas. They chatted with one another as if sitting at a café, as if they weren’t in a room with a huge rubber crater and drain to wash away blood and meatier substances. The mere allusion to those meatier things made him gag, and the corresponding thought that soon it could very well be _Clearblue’s_ meatier things made him lightheaded.

It wasn’t until Jean-Claude clutched his hand that he noticed the vampire was staring at him. “ _Mon ami_ , you look ill.”

“I am.” His voice was thin and feathery. “I have to find her. I have to talk to her. I can’t believe she’s actually going through with this.”

If Jean-Claude replied, Clover didn’t hear it. He was halfway to the end of the aisle before anyone could stop him. He found Ares still hovering near the doors and grabbed his arm, hard. Ares’s eyes bulged at the sight of him, and at the pressure he exerted.

“Where’s Clearblue?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”

He tried again, louder. “ _Where_ is she?”

“She gave me specific instructions—”

“Fuck that!” he yelled, and drew the attention of several nearby spectators. “She’s about to enter a fight that she may not walk away from. I _need_ to talk to my sister. Please, Ares.”

Ares’s eyes softened and he nodded. “Follow me.”

They returned to the plum hallway where, three yards to the right, there was an unremarkable door done in flat black, purposely contrived to be easily missed. With a glance in either direction, Ares opened it and flipped a wall switch that illuminated a naked bulb some distance down a narrow staircase.

“Watch your step,” he whispered. “The decline is steep and sometimes the stairs are slippery.”

 _Slippery with what?_ popped into Clover’s head, but upon longer consideration, he decided not to ask.

Ares made sure the door closed flush against its frame behind them before they descended. The stairs were indeed slippery, and Clover clung to the banister mounted on the left-hand wall. His only goal in that moment was to avoid stumbling and landing ass-first in the residue. At the bottom landing, above which hung the only light source, was a gray granite wall. Ares made a sharp right and continued along a corridor as narrow as the stairway. This corridor, it turned out, was shorter than it seemed, and Clover nearly bumped into his escort as he opened yet another door.

The room they entered shattered the creepy crypt illusion. In actuality, the area wasn’t particularly bright, but the autumn-leaf-gold color of the walls made it seem so. The only unsettling detail was the dark hardwood floor. The upstairs hallway and balcony were carpeted; wood was much easier to clean.

Clearblue was stretched out on a brown leather sofa with her palms pressed to her eyes. When she heard footsteps, she turned her head slightly in their direction. “Ares?”

Ares cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m here. I brought someone with me.”

She dropped her hands and looked at her brother, and was immediately exasperated.

Clover stemmed her objection and said, “Ares, can you give us a few minutes?”

“Of course, but that’s all you get: the battle starts at nine and it’s already five of.” He nodded to both and left the room.

Clearblue sighed, annoyed. “I _told_ him I didn’t want to see you.”

“It’s not his fault. I pleaded with him to let me talk to you.” Clover stood across from her, a coffee table between them.

“Well, what do you want?”

“ _What do I want_? You’ve been AWOL all day! I understand not talking to _me_ , but Anita called you several times and you didn’t answer, and when I checked your apartment you weren’t there.”

“You know I don’t answer numbers I don’t recognize. I slept until one, then I went to the museum to clear my head.”

“What—for the rest of the day?”

“For about three hours. I turned off my phone while I was inside. Then I just walked around the park, trying to understand what could’ve possessed you to do this.”

He scoffed, but made no reply.

Clearblue shot up from her seat, her face contorted with unreserved anger. “You just don’t _get it!_ You’ve done this to me our whole lives, one way or another.”

“Please—name one!”

“I can do better.” She indicated with fingers as she listed names. “Collin, in eighth grade. I liked him, but you and he suddenly got buddy-buddy and were inseparable that summer. Ricky, same thing in ninth grade. Sophomore year when I had a crush on my friend Megan and discovered I liked girls, right before I worked up the nerve to tell her, _you_ asked her to Prom.” Emotion was diffuse across her countenance. She took a breath and fixed him fast with a steely gaze. “And then there was Trevor. I thought there was no way he could be your type, since you were a jock and he was on the school newspaper with me. But he was pretty, and now I know how much you like ‘em pretty. The entire first semester of senior year I pined over him. When you got tired of hearing it and asked me to point him out, like an idiot, I did. Next thing I know, you lose your virginity to him and spend the following two years together.” She paused to blink back tears with a conscious effort. “You were outgoing, athletic, handsome, social, _and smart_ to boot. The perfect kid. I was just smart, an awkward bookworm. But Trevor . . . we had the same interests, and he brought me out of my shell. One of the few people who noticed me, who liked me. And you _had_ to have him. I’ve never understood why.”

His mouth fell open. “Clear, I didn’t realize.”

“That’s exactly the problem: you don’t _realize_. You’re so selfishly oblivious to these things. I let them go in the past—and believe me, the Trevor thing was especially difficult—but this time was different. This time I told you about Asher from the beginning, and for some reason I thought you valued my feelings enough to back off.” Her voice, grown progressively louder, hung in the air and settled around them. “How do you think it feels? To have the person you’re closest to sabotage you again and again?” Despite herself, her cheeks were damp.

Clover had little time to absorb this information before Ares reentered. He strode quickly across the room to a door that Clover assumed was a closet. Wrong. Cheers and whistles exploded when he pulled open the apparently soundproof egress. Through the threshold and five steps up there was only darkness, as if the torrent of sound poured in from nowhere.

“It’s time,” he announced.

At this declaration, Clearblue collapsed back to the sofa and dissolved into full sobs. Ares was disturbed at this and flashed Clover a pained expression, but Clover paid him no attention. It seemed that the world ground to a halt while his mind raced. Then it began again. He had decided.

He stripped out of his white dress shirt and jeans, piling them unceremoniously on one of the chairs, and walked to Ares in only his boxers.

“So how does this work? Some kind of trap door?”

Confused, Ares replied, “Yeah.”

Clearblue raised her head and gawked at him. “What are you doing?” Her breath came in hiccups in the midst of her crying.

“You’re too upset—if you try to fight Narcissus now, you’ll be killed. Nieterkob is the Oba-by-proxy, and as I see it, you’re indisposed.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

But Clover shifted to his hyena before she could counter him and trotted up the shallow steps. Ares looked to her, a drawn expression that brought out the lines of his face. Neither knew what to say.

Clover growled, and a startled Ares pounded his fist to the button just inside the doorframe. The trap door that had hidden the arena from view slid to the left, and harsh light flooded through. The audience jumped to their feet at the sight, and a thunderous applause erupted when Clover leapt out onto the rubber floor of the pit.

**Chapter 16: Duped**

Ares pushed another button and a one-way window slid out from the right side of the trap door threshold that allowed them to watch the brawl unseen. Clearblue could hardly breathe. As frightened as she had been to face Narcissus herself, she was more terrified for Clover. He had never _met_ the former Oba, let alone fought her.

The suspense climbed with every passing second. The two hyenas snarled and snapped, but they only circled one another rather calmly. Neither had made a move, and the average spectator would assume they were both simply being cautions.

But Clearblue knew better. She knew her brother: when he attempted something for the first time, he liked to play it safe and follow someone else’s lead—which was fine for most endeavors, but a poor strategy in battle. And even from their one interaction, she felt she knew Narcissus as well. At least, she had gleaned enough to recognize that Narcissus was not one for caution—meaning there was something in the works, something Clover hadn’t caught on to. Not good.

The tension finally broke when Narcissus nipped Clover’s front leg. He lunged at her in response and sent her on the run, and chased her halfway around the perimeter. Then Narcissus held her ground and they fell back to circling. Moments later, that same pattern repeated: Narcissus provoked Clover, he took the offensive, and they returned to their stand-off. The third time it happened, Clover caught up to Narcissus and pinned her, but she managed to squirm out from under him.

The opponents had returned to neutral ground when Clearblue inhaled sharply and put a hand to her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Ares asked her.

“I think Narcissus is bating him. Making him think he’ll win easily so he’ll become overconfident.”

“Playing weak to trick him?”

Clearblue turned to him with wild eyes and nodded.

He scrutinized the hyenas in the pit for some seconds, then took a deep breath. “You’re right. Narcissus fights much better than she’s acting. Although, she’s not one to plan an attack; she usually goes in guns blazing. She must be desperate.”

“This is a mistake.” She shook her head rapidly. “Clover’s never fought another wereanimal before. I don’t have much experience either, but I at least know something about how she operates. I have to go in there.”

She took a step forward, but Ares grabbed her wrist. “You can’t. It could be that Narcissus was so pumped for battle she didn’t stop to investigate Clover’s beast—she may be unaware that he’s not you. If you go in and blow his cover, she’ll find a reason to invalidate the fight.”

“But—!”

There was a tremendous gasp from the audience and when Clearblue and Ares whipped their heads to the arena, they saw why. Narcissus was atop Clover, her muzzle buried in his neck, gnawing. A pool of blood expanded out from his body, and Clearblue watched in horror as his movements began to slow. She didn’t wait for Ares. She pushed the button herself and the window retracted into the wall.

**Chapter 17: The Main Event**

Clearblue ran into the pit at full speed, shifted mid-motion, and didn’t stop until she slammed into Narcissus. They tumbled a good distance and she used the former Oba’s shock at the blitz attack to her advantage: she sank her jaws like a bear trap into soft abdominal flesh, and felt her teeth rip through muscle.

The audience was in upset. A mix of cheers, murmuring, and protests rang out—but the two hyenas paid them no heed. Narcissus recovered enough to bite her left shoulder with considerable force, and Clearblue whined and rolled off her. They stood opposite each other, both hunched and ready to spring, Clearblue putting more weight on her right foreleg and Narcissus bleeding at the stomach.

Clearblue backed slowly toward the far side of the arena, leading Narcissus away from the wounded Clover, who’s only movement was the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage. Despite the gash in her abdomen, Narcissus’s seething anger gave her plenty of energy to work with: Clearblue could feel her emotion reverberating out in waves. She was one pissed-off Oba.

But then again, so was Clearblue. She thought back to her first reaction when she received the challenge letter. She had just met twenty of Kabultiloa’s members—had only recently known how it felt to be one of a group, surrounded by familiar scent and familial ties—when Narcissus put all of that in jeopardy. She thought of the hyena delegation standing before her in the living room at the Circus. Every one of them was extraordinarily chiseled, as if sculptures come to life. They couldn’t go back to that—to a leader who treated them like eyecandy and bargaining chips. The Kabultiloa were better than that, and they deserved more.

She had been distracted by Clover and Asher’s actions, but now it all evaporated into wispy insignificance. She thought only of the clan, and their musk filled her nostrils. It seeped out from the wide empty grasslands dotted with umbrella acacias, from the hard clay soil and patches of red grass. She wrapped their scent around her like a cape, pulled it close to her fur until it felt aura-like.

The audience lapsed into a heavy and complete silence as the scent of the clan and her accompanying power swept through the room. For once, her hyena wasn’t angry. It was purpose driven. It reveled in the attention it commanded from the beasts in the balcony, quiet in the presence of such power. _My power. My clan._ The fine hair of her ears and head bristled and she bared her teeth to the gums. A rumble began in her ribs and built upon its own momentum until she was growling and wailing with all her being. Loud didn’t begin to describe the fearsome sound, especially following the abrupt silence of the audience.

Clearblue let go. Let go of any remaining semblance of rationale, of thought altogether. She surrendered completely to instinct and action: to the pads of her paws, the muscles firing in her legs, and to her tongue that salivated in anticipation of her opponent’s blood.

Narcissus had no time to react as Clearblue rushed and pinned her, all four sets of claws embedded in flesh. She bit at her chest and deepened the injury to her stomach. Narcissus was nearly helpless against her, and her struggles turned from attack to simply writhing to escape. She somehow managed this goal, but not without significant damage—Narcissus retreated a few yards limping noticeably, her fur smeared crimson in several areas.

Clearblue rounded on her, putting claws to wounds to take her down easier. They rolled in a frenzy along the rubber floor and occasionally slipped in the blood and other fluids that spilled from torn skin, the majority of it Narcissus’s. And as Clearblue continued her assault, she felt the other’s body begin to give out: Narcissus’s bites were halfhearted and her thrashing no longer as strong. Just as well. Clearblue reared back and pierced her teeth through the tender sinews of Narcissus’s throat. She pulled away and a hunk of tissue came with her, enough to expose vertebrae and spinal cord. Had she been in human form, she would have surely vomited at the sight, but her hyena-self only cackled at the fatal injury as proof of triumph.

**Chapter 18: Aftermath**

Amid a riot of applause and whistles, Clearblue returned to human and examined herself: her injuries were minimal, and faded to nothing even as she looked at them. She was still reeling with power and adrenaline—she didn’t care that she was naked in front of an attentive hundred-some spectators, nor that there was a freshly-dead body a few inches from her feet. In fact, as her human faculties returned one by one, the _only_ thing on her mind was the still-unconscious Clover lying in his own partially dried blood.

Ares appeared by her side with a robe he’d found who-knows-where. She shrugged it on and ran to Clover to inspect the damage. Her chest grew unbearably tight when she saw how extensive it was. He looked almost as bad as Narcissus had. His throat was one gaping jagged slash, into which she could see red meat and tendon. Blood continued to trickle from his visible nicked carotid artery and his breathing was dangerously short.

The audience was slow to catch on to the severity of the situation, but when they did, a stony hush permeated the crowd. Clearblue glanced up to the balcony and saw Jean-Claude, Anita, and Asher sitting together in the first row. Jean-Claude’s expression was perfectly stoic, Anita’s slightly less so: one thin line of concern creased her forehead, but overall her indifference was convincing. Asher’s was the countenance that made Clearblue wince. He didn’t put much effort into his usual mask; his face was paler than she had ever seen it, his eyes wide, and his lips parted and glossy. Their eyes met and the fear he projected was so overwhelming that she shuddered under its weight.

Ares touched her shoulder and Clearblue came back to herself. With concerted effort she cast aside all her impulses to shriek and panic, swallowed hard, and placed her hands just above her brother’s wound. That cool, healing energy bubbled up in her like an old habit and she pushed it into her Clover’s limp hyena form. When there was no change, terrible thoughts began to creep in from the corners of her mind—but then he stopped bleeding and she watched his jugular knit together. It got better from there. Muscle mended and skin regenerated slowly until the laceration was no more.

At length, Clover breathed deep and opened his eyes. Most of his energy returned, the next instant he was up and alternately licking her face and bounding around. Another wave of applause echoed around the balcony at the sight of two healthy Aldans and one dead Narcissus.

**Chapter 19: Back Burner**

Clover remained a hyena several minutes longer to finish healing entirely. When he was ready to change back, Ares brought him a robe similar to Clearblue’s—while hers was baby blue, his was a rich hunter green. She looked the garment over more carefully and found her cursive initials embroidered in white thread on the left pocket, and a glance to Clover’s robe revealed the same.

She snagged Ares gently by the elbow. “When did you have these robes made?”

He grinned and then looked to the floor. “On Wednesday.”

“Wednesday? But I thought you all didn’t decide if you wanted Clover and me until Friday?”

“Actually, we decided after only three days of deliberations, but we stayed quiet the extra two so we wouldn’t seem desperate. I commissioned ten robes for each of you, some to keep here and some for the Circus of the Damned, and anywhere else you’re likely to shift.”

Clearblue smiled and hugged him, and he happily returned the gesture.

“So,” he said as they ended the embrace. “Ready to meet the rest?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Over the next two hours, her hyena wrestled and romped and snuggled with all the members of the Kabultiloa Clan in their group mental landscape, solidifying their bond and her place as Oba. Clover participated enthusiastically by her side, and for that window of time they were stronger than ever.

The shared cheer turned sour, however, when Asher entered the pit from the same adjacent basement room she had passed time in before the brawl. Although she had not spoken with Ares or anyone else about what had passed between them (the good stuff or the bad stuff), the hyenas, like all wereanimals, were attuned to energies well enough to know something was amiss. They parted like the Red Sea as Asher made his way to Clearblue.

Before either could say a word, Ares announced in a booming voice: “The majority of you may leave. Those I’ve spoken to privately, please remain in the building.” He then beat feet toward the exit and the cackle followed, though not without a few curious glances over their shoulders.

Clover was uncharacteristically twitchy, but wisely kept his mouth shut when Asher approached and stood with them.

“ _Ma_ —” Asher checked himself. “Clearblue, I am so glad you are safe and uninjured. Congratulations on your victory.”

“Thank you,” she replied coldly.

Asher was clearly uncomfortable, not only due to the awkward silence in which they found themselves, but moreso because he didn’t have the upper hand—and had no way of gaining it. He took a breath and forced the flinching expression from his face. “I did not intend to hurt you, and I am so very grieved that I did so. Please accept my apology.”

Clearblue crossed her arms. “You know, you don’t intend to do many things. You didn’t _intend_ to set me up as leader of a weregroup either, if I remember correctly. A few omissions here, some passive encouragement there, and it just sort of _happened_ , didn’t it? I have forgiven you for that, but there’s a limit to how much responsibility you can shirk when it affects my life. Now you think you can manipulate my emotions and fuck my brother, and everything will be fine? Absolutely not.” She sighed in vexation and closed her eyes, wrangling her anger. “You and Clover are cut from the same cloth. You both are so used to getting your way every damn time that you can’t see how your actions affect others. It stops here. I refuse to just roll over and accept this, and pretend I’m not upset for fear of ruffling feathers.”

Without so much as a pause, she stomped out of the pit with all the might and vigor of a freight train.

**Chapter 20: Strong Encouragement**

The following evening, Clearblue was seated once again in the living room of the Circus along with Clover, Anita, Micah, Jean-Claude, and two other men who were yet strangers to her.

Micah Callahan was three inches shorter than Clearblue, though she was continuously surprised at this: his confident presence and impeccable posture gave the illusion of a taller person. More surprising was how much and how often Anita felt the need to touch him. If Micah was sitting, Anita was practically on his lap; if he was standing, she had a hand to his back or thigh. Her behavior struck Clearblue as extremely peculiar, given that she had seen her act similarly with Jean-Claude and, to a lesser degree, with Asher. Was she always this affectionate with men?

Micah had introduced himself soon after she’d arrived with Clover and had launched into a description of the Wereanimal Coalition. “And we hope to continue our good relationship with the hyenas,” he concluded. He fixed his interestingly colored eyes on her and smiled brightly—and she melted just a little. Short men weren’t to her taste, but she agreed wholeheartedly with what Anita saw in him.

She smiled in return. “I see no reason for that relationship to change. The Coalition seems a valuable resource, and I will encourage the hyenas to become and remain involved.”

“We’re glad you feel that way. Jean-Claude and I have set a grand Coalition meeting for next Saturday at eight PM to formally introduce you and Clover to the were community. But before that time, I want you to meet two group leaders.” He extended an arm to the tall well-built man with brunette hair that fell to his shoulders. “This is Richard, Ulfric of the St. Louis wolf Pack.”

Richard and Clearblue stood in unison and met in the center of the room. They shook hands warmly, and Richard said, “It’s a pleasure, and congratulations. I for one didn’t like Narcissus.”

She held back laughter at his frank remark.

Micah continued, “And Rafael, King of the rat Rodere.”

At this prompting the other man, almost the same height as Richard, joined them. He had deep coffee-and-cream skin, black hair slicked away from his face, and mesmerizing lips. “Good to meet you, Clearblue. I look forward to working together.” The words were simple, but Rafael’s voice added a lovely sensuality to them.

She nodded. “As do I.”

Jean-Claude cleared his throat softly; he nodded to Micah. “I requested Rafael and Richard meet you in private because—as you may realize—the rats, the wolves, and the hyenas are, respectively, the three largest weregroups in the city, and as such, the suppliers of guards to the Circus of the Damned. It is imperative that you work well with the King and Ulfric, for the stability of St. Louis and the general were population.”

“I know that sounds daunting,” Micah added quickly, “but what Jean-Claude wants you to understand is that you have a responsibility not only to the Kabultiloa, but also to the Master and his associates.”

“Yes, I certainly understand that.”

Jean-Claude smiled.

Micah clapped his hands and paused before he spoke again. He looked between Clearblue and Clover as he collected his thoughts. “There is another reason we wanted to speak to both of you privately. The last panwere I knew was not a good person. In fact, he was a deranged, volatile, homicidal rapist. But I’ve often thought of what an asset he would’ve been to an organization like the Coalition, had his situation been otherwise.” He looked around at the others in the room. “It’s been a long road for the groups and their leaders to get where we are today, however, there is still work to do—we must treat adding two panweres to the mix as the huge opportunity it is. I would like to offer you the positions of Intra-Coalition liaisons.”

“What does that mean?” Clover asked, after a glance to his sister.

“It means you’ll be on the shortlist of contacts in case of an emergency. Because you have all strains of lycanthropy, you’re capable of helping all the groups. Of course, we won’t put you into rotation until you’ve spent more time with the hyenas and have learned the ropes. What do you say?”

“Alright. Although, may I make a request?” Clearblue asked. Micah nodded and she continued, “Clover is my default Oba, so perhaps I could be his default liaison? The responsibility would be more balanced that way.”

“Sure—if Clover agrees?”

Clover nodded, and Micah flashed another radiant smile. “Wonderful.” He scanned his friends’ faces once more. “Is there anything to add?”

Ulfric and King shook their heads, as did Anita. It was Jean-Claude who said, “I would like to broach another subject. Micah, Richard, Rafael, as this is a personal matter, you are free to go.”

There was no argument, and the three men exited the room.

In a blink, Jean-Claude’s expression went from contented to penetrating. “I have only a vague idea of what occurred between the two of you and Asher, and I do not wish to know the details, but I urge you to please settle this dispute. I am glad for the hyenas’ sake that Clearblue is now Oba. However, from my perspective, we have returned to the very same difficulty we faced with Narcissus: she and Asher were not on good terms, and Asher was consequently without an animal to call.”

A good night’s sleep and a few hours’ meditation since the events earlier that weekend had given Clearblue the time she needed to distance herself from the situation, and she no longer jumped immediately to anger at the thought of Asher.

“I respect and appreciate your concern on this issue, but as you said to the others, it is a personal matter, one that you have no business in. Yes, it is regrettable that Asher and I are not getting along, but that was his doing, not mine.”

Jean-Claude smiled, but it wasn’t pleasant. “I am my own _sourdre de sang_ while Asher remains a part of Belle Morte’s bloodline. This means that I cannot protect him as well as I was able when I was tied to Belle. Without a human servant or animal to call, he is vulnerable, and technically, is still a part of Belle’s court. Were she to demand his return, there would be little we could do, short of full-fledged war. And so, I say again: settle your dispute.”

Clearblue narrowed her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“ _Non_. Consider it strong encouragement.”


End file.
